


Verdue

by Bidawee



Series: if you go down in the woods today (fantasy au) [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Dare I Say: Fluff, Deer, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining, Shapeshifting, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 17:52:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: “You’re a true warrior now, as you always wished. I hope it makes you happy,” Mitch says. Auston has heard everything he wants to hear.





	Verdue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bbb136](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbb136/gifts).



> This universe might be a bit confusing if you haven't read the parent fic, Bambi. You can find it in the collection.  
> This is a quick little thing I wrote today for my dear friend, Jiggy. Sending lots of love to you Jiggs, and happy holidays!

It’s a frosty morning, one where the misty exhale nips at both fur and skin ears. Even with the addition of his enchanted furs on, Mitch can’t find a use in staying in human form. The greenery is just beginning to grow back after a fierce winter, enough that some of the clovers are poking out from the brush. He grazes only twice before the boredom sets in, and then he’s on the move. 

Mitch treads past the riverbed and spiralling brook, where the foamy, soap-like water chills him to the bone, and then leaps up onto the moor. He can smell the musk of deer; in the background there’s the signature  _ thump _ of bone hitting bone reverberating in the air. It’s a surefire sign of bucks and stags battling in the area nearby.

The adults practice on the open moor, where only the stalks of hay and windswept grass can be used for cover. The juveniles practice down south, away from the eyes of potential hunters. Unlike the mature adults, the juveniles howl and grunt with every hit, ending their duels with faces streaked with soggy mud after their inevitably losses. 

Mitch remembers touring the battlegrounds with Auston and his father every season as fawns, back when they could be held in the palm of a hand. As a fawn, he loved to switch forms on the moor and notice the change in height as he morphed in shape. As a teengaer, it’s all the more powerful, and mid-change he take notice of the flower crowns for Auston he’d roped around his neck, carefully maneuvering them to hold in one hand.

The times have changed, almost too quickly. Mitch moses around the fawns in the nursery grounds, all exploring the sensation of grass for the first time in what’s probably their lives. He has to be careful with his footing so that he doesn’t accidentally step on one. There has to be at least a dozen as a part of a single harem, watched over by a few does north of where he’s walking. He crows out a greeting to the closest but keeps his distance lest he catches the attention of the stag responsible for caring for them.

No, his destination is only a bit away from the itty bitty babes. His eyes are set on the rich tapestry of forest, growing up from the outskirts of the moorlands. The older deer are tossing themselves upside down there, bordered by ripe lingonberries and dense periods of bilberry shoots.

He spots Auston before any other. His darker coat has come in and ripples with the strength of the muscles underneath. Mitch can see how distinguished he is from the rest, not chaperoned by a parent. He fights for himself and with power.

Auston is prancing around like the cat that caught the canary. HIs overexaggerated guise catches the attention of another buck, who challenges him with a ferocious cry. The subsequent charge threatens to knock Auston off of his hooves, but the shifter finds his footing in the mushy soil and heaves back. Their horns interlock.

Auston continues to get leverage, which he uses to back his competitor up a few paces. The other buck’s hind legs being to shake with exertion, wobbling just enough for Auston to wrestle his head down. To accommodate the new weight, the competitor twists his body like an old accordion and tries to shake his antlers to deter Auston. Auston takes no prisoners and pivots his head up, using his remaining strength to thrust his antlers and break the composure fuelling the other buck. In response, the buck stumbles to the ground with all four legs neatly folding underneath him.

It’s a clean victory and one Mitch appreciates dearly. Auston always did enjoy the festivities of a good rut, even if in his current stage he was too young to truly feel the effects of it. However, it’s no place for a doe like Mitch to be sniffing about. He and his mother purposely avoid walking into rut fights now, if only to stop themselves from leaving with scars crisscrossing their pelts. The crown he brought for Auston sits around his wrist like dead weight.

His scent must be drafting over the treetops and ferns; it’s the only explanation for how Auston’s ears perk up in seconds after the honeymoon period of the win, his head frantically tossing from side to side until he lands on the pair of blue eyes watching him from afar. The change is instantaneous; Auston’s hardened exterior softens and his tail flicks twice in invitation.

He starts towards Mitch with confident strides, the brown hide on his back changing in colour. Mitch watches the transformation from deer into man, how despite the twisting and turning of shapes the antlers remain in place, like a true crown born of gold sitting on top of his head. The flowers in MItch’s hand are a mockery of the grace that the image comes packaged with.

Gradually, the awkward and gangly legs of the deer adjust and turn into arms, the wide expanse of hair limiting itself to Auston’s head, arms, and legs. The transformation completes with a heavy exhale from Auston’s lips, one spoken with a touch of resentment Mitch knows comes with the change in form. 

“Mitchy,” he says. His voice is warm. “Stay there, I’ll come to meet you.”

“Okay,” Mitch peeps. Auston only needs to take a few steps to embrace the distance between them.

Auston’s changes exist not only in form but also in personality. He takes his time walking over to Mitch’s side and over exaggerates the weight of the antlers. It’s a clear expression of pride. Mitch feels compelled to applaud him and rear back in delight. Not only has Auston hit the strides of puberty but has done so with poise.

It’s worthy of applause, but Mitch knows that Auston values his herd’s opinion of him. He doesn’t want to squander a friendship in the workings by being a buzzing bee the whole while. He side-eyes Auston and walks aside to let the remaining herd continue to practice. Auston follows him almost step for step.

“You’re a true warrior now, as you always wished. I hope it makes you happy,” he starts. Anything else he adds to the conversation is needless fluff. Auston has heard everything he wants to hear.

“It does. I can’t fight you anymore--I’d hurt you.”

Mitch laughs. “Yes. You’re big and strong now. And you’ve got your herd.” He cranes his head up, his ears tangling in the boreal wood resting just above. “Can you introduce me?”

Auston coughs, a blush dusting his cheeks. “I’m not sure you’re their type. Right now they’re a bit rough.”

"Why not? I've introduced you to the members of my herd."

"I will, I will," Auston repeats in a haze as he reassures Mitch. "As soon as the heather blooms I will, but not a minute before."

"Bossy," Mitch pouts. His inner mind workings become disoriented by the large wooden stacks--the antlers--mounted in Auston's skull. "Are those real?"

A smug look crossed Auston's face. "They are. You like?"

"Oh wow. Can I touch?" Without waiting for a response, his fingers careen up and stroke the base where the bone roots. 

Auston's tongue flaps, ready to say something but abruptly dismissed by Mitch's touching. His pupils skirt upward in order to watch how Mitch's clipped nails lightly claw into the stems up top. They're not big by any means but the strange shape they curve into fiercely demands Mitch's attention.

Moss decorates Auston’s newly sprouted antlers like laurels. The green colouring contrast the beige and auburn that speckles each tendril like cobwebs. Each intricate carving, whether obtained by scraping bark off trees in shedding season or carved by a competitor's own barbs, stretches long and wide. Some are big enough to lodge Mitch’s thumb by width alone.

“They’re so beautiful Auston,” he says in complete awe. “Very fitting, I must say.”

“Thank you,” Auston says back, but his tone is clipped. “I’m hoping they will continue to grow up in time.”

“You’ll sparsely be able to fit in your burrow then.” Mitch lunges as if to nip Auston’s locks of hair, as per the usual. It succeeds as always in sending Auston backward a step or two, the pride he takes in his appearance helping him fold to Mitch’s pestering.

The other bucks hoot and holler as soon as Auston's bulky shape peels away and Mitch's human form is revealed. Auston turns around and pulls his upper lip back to reveal his teeth, baring them in their full glory. Mitch giggles, managing a small wave at the crowd in front before Auston blocks him once more.

“Ignore them,” Auston says through his teeth, “they’re imbeciles.”

“I really want to meet them.”

“Soon.”

“Aw, come on.” He moves to walk forward but Auston shoves him back using the power in his shoulders. It’s something Mitch can’t compete with even on a good day.

He figures now more than ever is the appropriate time to show the flower crowns he has gripped in his left hand. He worries their more juvenile nature will scare Auston aware, but to his surprise, Auston’s eyes light up as if he’s seen a spirit wandering in the undergrowth when Mitch presents them. 

“Sorry if it’s too effeminate for you now, I just knew you liked them and--” Auston grabs both of Mitch’s hands and pulls him closer.

“I love it. They’re amazing. I’m just not sure if it will fit on my head proper. If you could rope it around my antlers, maybe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. You’ll have to help me though.”

Mitch beams at the opportunity, standing on the edge of his toes in order to properly reach the top of the man’s trey, where the length of the antler sits. There are tendrils of velvet remaining even after the battle scars are all accounted for, and although painless, Mitch fears that he will somehow hurt Auston. His minute’s hesitation is all the buck needs to quite literally bow before him, craning his head down to give Mitch a better vantage point to work with. 

The change in direction makes it easier. The flower stems connecting the bulbs are not long but are quick to stretch and allow for Mitch to manipulate the dimensions. He slips the wide inner circle through the hoops of Auston’s antlers where soft hair grows. Near the bottom, the spongy bone turns to a compact shape that resembles wood. The grooves allow for Mitch to tug the crown down two inches where it almost sits perfectly on Auston’s head. It’s a work in progress, but Mitch can’t deny how the colour from the petals contrasts so nicely against Auston’s skin.

“There,” he huffs out.

Auston’s hand extends, feeling the ends of the crown where the stem meets the bulb. Mitch spent a good while braiding together the roots simply because he knows Auston is the kind to appreciate good craftsmanship. The bluebells were picked specifically because Auston wears blue so well, and also because they take the longest to scrape up from under the previous autumn’s rotting foliage. Mitch chooses the ones he uses with care, and only Auston ever seems to notice.

The chastity of the moment doesn’t remain however; Auston steadily becomes more uncomfortable the longer Mitch stays put. Mitch can see him trying to reposition himself. Other bucks are beginning to notice the disturbance in their rutting season and stray closer, some choosing to call Mitch over. The ones in human form, looking more rugged for wear, go so far as to call him by name,

“You better go,” Auston says. “They’re only going to get more frisky with time.”

“Will you at least wear the crown for the rest of the morning?” He doesn’t say it, but the evening spent making it with Auston in mind comes back to haunt him.

“I promise. Who knows, maybe it will give me good luck.”

He’s not one to typically inflate Auston’s ego, but the situation calls for it. Mitch can’t help but answer, “you don’t need it. You’re already the best fighter I know.”

As Mitch is turning away, he takes the form of a deer once more to shorten the distance of travel. The energy of the forest deposits itself inside of his veins, the body his vessel for the astral spirit. The back of his mouth tastes like fresh mint, a flavour that’s exaggerated once his lungs reposition and he’s on all fours again. Behind him, Auston croons and does the same. 

The changes to Mitch’s own adolescent body are small but noticeable to the trained eye. His neck is beginning to grow in length, able to bend and twist at will. His eyelashes grow in thicker and a white stripe blossoms at the end of his snout. On his spine, the white spots so vindictive of a fawn are beginning to fade--even before Auston’s. The only remaining white on his body forms a little heart shape around his backside and tail, which puffs up in accordance to the chill in the air.

He tries not to flaunt his own coming maturity because it comes tasselled with a pang of sadness at seeing his mother put more distance between them. Yet, the other half of his mind is preoccupied with wanting to prove equal status to someone as acclaimed as Auston. He does manage to tear out another low belt from Auston, who as a buck hesitates in front of Mitch’s swishing tail.

Mitch is just about ready to take off when he feels a sizeable nip at the end of his tail. It’s not painful, but the surprise alone has him rocketing up in a powerful leap. His back legs just miss stabbing through Auston’s furry chest, his front legs bounding ahead before his rear can keep up. He only registers that Auston was the culprit when he’s metres away and out of reach, buckling his front half to the side to shoot Auston a disapproving look. They’re far beyond roughhousing; it’s so immature.

Auston’s ears are flat against his head. He gives his chest a few licks out of embarrassment, an act only acknowledged by Mitch’s sour huff. He knows it’s all in good fun, but the tinge of another undercurrent in his blood is enough to spook him.

One of Auston’s friends emerges behind him, reciprocating by biting Auston’s own tail. It’s sweet karma watching Auston’s hind hooves stomp down, his antlers lowering as he chases the other buck outside of his close vicinity. Mitch, always unable to hold a grudge, bleats in joy as he retreats from the foggy clearing.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr
> 
> took some creative liberties--deer here will nip intended mates on the tail but auston does it to flirt. poor mitch didnt know this and got the spook of his life


End file.
